Steven Seagal IS Defender of Justice
by LadyCordeliaStuart
Summary: Tough cop Nick Cross comes to the aid of once carefree Jenny Blake as she runs from her encounter with The Reaper.
1. Reaper

No man saw the Reaper and lived. Many souls brushed by him as he walked the city streets on the way to his next appointment, but none of them realized, and so they were spared. It was only a job to the Reaper. It was no more exciting than any other everyday errand. He wasn't summoned when information or pain were needed. Only silence.

And it was silent all around him as he stood outside a rundown apartment building in a quiet part of a moonlit city cul-de-sac. There was a soft crinkle as he retrieved a piece of paper from a pocket not in a black cloak but an unassuming suit, the type any businessman might wear on his way home from work. The entirely mundane and bland briefcase he carried contributed further to the unassuming visage.

It was the correct location. It always was. He already knew everything that would happen next. The building wasn't a glamorous home for starlets or anyone who mattered. It was a dank container filled with those who didn't care for or couldn't afford better. There would be no security guard to buzz him in and no receptionist to take his name. He slipped in the door as quietly as a shadow and wondered if the chill was from the night air he'd let in, or just because of him.

The stained steps squeaked as he climbed up deeper into the building. It wasn't ideal, but at this hour, it was unlikely anyone would notice the noise, even with the thin walls. The very decrepitude of the building, although it made for unwanted noises, also explained them away. Anyone who heard would think it was just the building settling. He reached his floor and continued down the hall.

It wasn't a particularly large building. There were only four sets of doors on either side of him. The second set was his target. He reached the second door on the left and stopped. He ran over his plan a final time and collected his thoughts for a second. There was a doorbell set into the plywood door, but it wouldn't do to make such noise at such an hour.

Instead, he softly knocked. He heard a flurry of motion immediately, and footsteps approached the door but stopped to the right of it. He saw a shadow under the door and knew the man inside was looking through the peephole. As always, it was expected. The man outside the door reached into his left pocket and took out a badge. He held it up beside his expressionless face. He could almost hear the soft sigh from inside the room. There was a click and the sound of metal dragged across wood, and then the doorknob turned.

As the door swung open, the room's occupant was half revealed behind it. The other half stayed hidden because of the speed of what happened next. The Reaper saw his quarry and verified him with a second's glance. His right hand went down to his hip, where his pants were so slightly too large that the discrepancy was unnoticeable. His long, powerful fingers wrapped around something cold and hard. His arm swung up in one natural motion and the man he faced paled and tried to shrink back. His eyes barely had time to focus before the bullet entered his brain. The noise was faintly louder than the scrape of the lock. Death, so feared by all, came with only a whisper.

So another man saw the Reaper.


	2. Jenny Blake

Jenny Blake was not having a good day.

First, the electricity had gone out around 5 a.m.—a dishearteningly usual occurrence at the dump where she lived—meaning that her alarm clock hadn't gone off, meaning that she had been late to class. And this class—her final chemistry class during her final year of her nursing program—was one class she couldn't afford to miss, not with a major exam looming only days away. Jenny was a smart girl and a good student, but everyone in Chemistry 402 struggled with the complex equations and formulas, and she had to not just survive the class but _ace_ it if she wanted to get into a good graduate program.

Then, she'd had to have THE TALK with her boyfriend Timothy during lunch, the I'm-not-sure-where-this-is-going-maybe-we-should-take-some-time-off talk, that awful talk that made her feel like a first-class jerk when Timothy looked up at her with those big brown puppy dog eyes of his. But he was planning to go to Berkley, all the way across the country, for graduate school, and she was planning on staying in New York, and they'd only been seriously dating for six months, and how on earth could they think things would work out from thousands of miles away? It was better to rip the band-aid off now, before finals week hit them with even more stress.

Then, she'd gotten a call from Northwestern Hospital, from her supervisor Margaret, who had told her that Shannon was sick and that she'd need to cover for the night shift tonight—which would eat away a good chunk of studying time for that chemistry exam. But she was so desperate to keep this good paying job in her field that she couldn't say no.

And finally, as she lugged up the last round of groceries from her monthly trip to the food store, halfway between the second and third levels (because of course this apartment did not have an elevator), the plastic bags had given away and the food had spilled everywhere. Most of the cans rolled back down to the second story landing, though a few made it even farther. The milk carton burst after hitting the third step and sent a spray of white liquid off the side of the stairs like a beautiful albino waterfall. By the time the apples thudded to a stop, they were a pulpy mess. And the jar of grape jelly shattered almost immediately, leaving a trail of sticky purple sludge in its wake.

Jenny had finally managed to clean up the mess and haul whatever could be salvaged into her apartment—No. 302—when she realized that she had forgotten her mail.

"Dammit," she muttered, dropping her bags on the kitchen counter. She ran a hand through her thick black hair and sighed, willing herself to be positive. She'd just have to go back down. And if she was going back down, she might as well take Mr. Fingers with her.

She walked through the kitchen into her bedroom, which was surprisingly neat for a college student: the purple bed sheets were neatly arranged, the clothes were all hung behind closed closet doors, the antique desk was free of clutter. On one wall hung a giant poster of David Bowie, from after he had gotten out of his Ziggy Stardust phase. On the opposite wall, she had tacked up a picture of Sting. A keyboard was tucked into one corner, sheet music spread out on the piano bench, and a record player was pushed into another corner, with a box full of records next to it.

And positioned in front of the window was her most precious possession of all: Butterfingers, her rabbit.

Butterfingers, sometimes referred to as Mr. Fingers, was a small Palomino rabbit, about three years old, the color of light caramel. Jenny had found him at the local shelter, where she often volunteered. Her apartment complex had a strict no-dogs, no-cats rule, but the landlord had never said anything about rabbits.

"Hello, Mr. Fingers," Jenny cooed, opening the cage and pulling out her furry friend. She held him close to her face, nuzzling his fur, and he returned the gesture. "Would you like to go on a walk?"

Mr. Fingers did not reply, but Jenny knew how much he loved taking walks. The two of them had certainly received their share of odd looks as they'd walked through the hallways, him with a purple harness around him and her guiding him along by the leash attached to it, but they didn't mind at all.

"I have to get the mail," Jenny explained as she slipped Mr. Fingers into his harness. He was used to this by now and didn't struggle. In fact, as soon as the harness was clinched shut, he started hopping towards the front door, practically pulling Jenny behind him. "Hold on!" she laughed, opening the door. "Not so fast! What's your-?"

That's when she noticed a man standing outside of Apartment 301. He was tall and lean, probably in his early 40s, with neatly styled dark hair run through with strands of gray. He was wearing a sharp gray suit that looked expensive without being flashy. He was actually pretty handsome, in a sharp, unapproachable way. But what really caught Jenny's attention was the gun he was holding, a gun that he fired just as she opened the door. There was a muffled grunt and another man spilled into the hall. Jenny recognized him as her neighbor, but truth be told she had only talked to him once or twice. She didn't even know his name. But now there he was, crumpled halfway into the hallway, dark red blood oozing out across the cheap imitation wood floor.

Jenny froze in her doorway, the sentence dying on her lips. The man with the gun, hearing her door open, twisted around to look. For a brief second, Jenny's wide brown eyes locked with the man's icy blue ones, eyes that seemed to have no emotion at all.

Then, as he raised his gun towards her, the moment was broken. Jenny scrambled back inside her apartment, jerking poor Butterfingers with her. She slammed the door and locked both locks, even as she knew the gesture was futile. She also knew calling the police would be futile, since there was no way they could arrive in time. Her only chance was the get out of there.

She sprinted to her kitchen, which had the only other window in her apartment—a window that opened next to the building's fire escape. It was a shaky, rusty, unstable contraption that Jenny never touched if at all possible (she kind of had this thing about heights), but today she yanked open her window and launched herself onto it. It swayed under her weight but stayed upright.

She had just started clambering down the metal steps when she heard her door burst open. That sound, coupled with the man's heavy footsteps crossing her floor, only made her go faster, scrambling down the fire escape without daring to glance back behind her. Only when she reached the ground did she look back up—and there he was, staring down at her through the metal bars of the fire escape. The only reason he hadn't shot her was because he hadn't gotten a clear shot. But there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.

 _All you've done is delay the inevitable._

Jenny wrenched her gaze away from his and started to run. She didn't know where—she just had to get away from him.

She really was not having a good day.


	3. Nick Cross

Nick Cross stormed into the police station, as he always did, even when there was no reason to. His fists were tight, already anticipating a fight he would surely win, and he leaned forward as though pushing through a hostile crowd. He headed for his office, though he would have preferred to go directly to the streets. He was a man of action, not of paperwork, and he constantly protested his superior officer's insistence that he document and record his actions. Until he got permission to abandon it, his habit was to sort all that out immediately so he could get to his real work.

But when he reached his office, something prevented him from his duty. He could not sit behind his sturdy, plain desk in his sturdy, plain chair, for there was a rabbit in it. A soft, floppy-eared puddle of fur nestled in his chair like he owned it, twitching his nose and nibbling on a leaf from Nick's desk plant.

 _Who's responsible for this?_ Nick was about to angrily demand an answer when he stepped further into the room and saw the other occupants. There were two chairs on the other side of his desk, both filled. One contained Lieutenant Pitts, a baby-faced recruit barely out of the academy. The other contained a young woman who looked somewhat older than the lieutenant, but still young enough to be in college. If Nick was the type to take notice of such things, he would have thought she was pretty. Instead, he thought of her only as someone in need of police assistance, as was obvious from her blotchy eyes and red nose.

"Miss, is that your rabbit?" Nick asked. He would have asked about her first, but he wanted to sit down so he wouldn't intimidate her.

"What? Oh yes, Mr. Fingers is mine," the woman said. She stood up and scooped the rabbit out of the chair and onto her lap. It buried its nose under her arm.

"His name is Mr. Fingers?" Lieutenant Pitts asked. He looked at the rabbit's absence of fingers.

"It's Butterfingers. Mr. Fingers for short," the woman said as Nick sat down.

"Can I help you?" he asked, glad to finally be able to address the important issues.

"We have a 10-56," Lieutenant Pitts said. _Homicide,_ Nick said. He was about to ask for details when he was interrupted.

"It looks like The Reaper," Pitts said. Nick's eyes went narrow and his concentration focused. He and the Reaper had a long history. Since the first rumors of a new and merciless hit man had reached the station, he'd been searching tirelessly for the mysterious figure that eluded him as it removed one star witness after another. He turned his steely gaze to the woman.

"And you're involved?" he asked her. She inched closer to Pitts like Nick was going to leap over the desk at her.

"I saw him," she said. Her eyes filled with tears again. "He... killed someone."

"You saw him?" Nick immediately fixated on the crucial bit of information. The main reason they hadn't been able to find The Reaper was that no one knew anything about him. He could be anyone, even someone Nick brushed past on the way to work, and it infuriated him. He turned to Pitts. "How do we know it's him?"

"Paulie Menneo is dead," Pitts said. "That's what she saw."

Nick fought to keep the boiling rage from showing in his face. Paulie was a small-time hood, but he had connections with the family they thought employed The Reaper. When he came to them offering to turn evidence to get out of a two-bit drug charge, they promised his full protection. Obviously that didn't work out, but maybe he'd helped them find The Reaper despite it.

"What did you see?" he asked the woman.

"I saw the Reaper."


	4. Jenny

_This can't be real. It can't really be happening._

There was no denying that it _was_ happening. Jenny was on her back on a strange bed, looking up at a strange ceiling. There hadn't been time to arrange a safehouse for the first night, so she was stuck in a courthouse holding cell. It was nothing malicious, of course. She just had to be somewhere someone had to get past guards and identification systems and multiple sets of doors. It was very secure, and the officers had done their best to make it more comfortable. One of them brought a quilt for the thin mattress, and they gave her a list of takeout options, which she hadn't yet been able to stomach. She wished Mr. Fingers was with her, but she was glad he was boarding with Lieutenant Pitts in a real house so he wouldn't be underfoot. She hoped he wasn't upset.

The more she thought of it, the more it wouldn't go away. It had been such a normal day. Just work, come home, make dinner, maybe watch some television, then go to bed. It was a normal day, right up until the murder. Every time she closed her eyes, Jenny saw him- the starkly-cut face, the gun still smoking in his hand, and those eyes looking back at her. He was looking for her now. Until he died or she did, he would be looking for her.

Everyone tried to tell Jenny it would be all right. _"Don't worry about a thing, ma'am. You're safe here,"_ they said. The pair of officers right outside her room looked in periodically and smilled reassuringly, like half a dozen cops hadn't already been killed by this psycho. If they couldn't even protect themselves, how could they protect her? They'd been looking for this guy for ages, and he always got away.

The only one who didn't try to convince her was Nick. He had murder in his eyes and purpose in every move, but he hardly seemed to notice her. _"I'll find him,"_ he'd said after a long interrogation. Nothing about her not dying, which was far more important to her. Just _"I'll find him."_ He came into the room outside her cell every now and then, seemingly just to check that she was alive and ask the other officers if they'd found anything new.

Someone tapped on the plexiglass partition that made up one wall of Jenny's room, and she jerked upward in bed, clutching her quilt to herself like a shield. The officer tapping on the glass drew back apolegetically.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Your father's on the line," he said, pointing at the phone in Jenny's room. Most prisoners didn't have their own phone, but the officers wanted to be able to reach Jenny at all times, and they also wanted her to be able to call anyone she wanted, especially her family.

 _Daddy!_ Jenny thought with a flood of relief and comfort. She'd been so overwhelmed she hadn't even thought to tell him what had happened. Of course the police would have let him know. He would have been there already if he wasn't housebound for three weeks while his bionic knee mended. She picked up the phone and smiled as she pressed it to her ear.

"Hey beautiful."

Jenny froze, except for her trembling hand. She wanted to slam the phone down or call for the officers to trace it, but everything was moving so slowly. The voice on the other end was low and sinister. There was a malicious undertone, like a roll of thunder. It was cold and vicious all at once, and it was not her father.

"You think you're safe now," the voice went on. Jenny started to shake, sure that the very voice could crawl out of that phone and stand before her to finish what it had started. "There's nowhere I won't find you. The only place you're safe is in the grave."

There was a sudden bang, and Jenny jerked back and dropped the phone. Nick nearly knocker her over as he grabbed the falling phone and put it to his ear.

"Reaper?!" he shouted, and the sudden explosion from such a quiet man almost made Jenny wet her pants. " _Reaper?!"_ he shouted again. His face furrowed in fury as he slammed the phone down onto the receiver.

"Did we get a trace?" he asked one of Jenny's guards.

"It wasn't long enough," the poor man answered, bracing for another explosion.

"Did we get it recorded?" Nick demanded.

"We got that," the man answered.

"Get it to the lab for analysis," Nick said. He finally seemed to notice Jenny. "We've got him now. He won't bother you again."

Jenny wasn't so sure.


	5. Timothy Mayer

Nick slammed his foot into the door, tearing the deadbolt out as easily as if it was balsa wood. The door splintered and cracked into pieces, revealing his vengeful silhouette. Nick and his backup officers flooded into the room, guns blazing as they fanned into a strategic position.

The house was deserted. The officers searched each room thoroughly, revealing nothing. Only a single telephone sloppily wired into an open socket in the wall greeted Nick in one bare room. Nick tore the wire from the wall and glared at it. The call had come from this building, but the Reaper was gone.

* * *

Timothy Mayer was having a bad day. It had been fine for the first half. He'd gotten home from his work study job as a librarian, which was putting him through his history studies. He knew a degree in history wasn't as useful as some, but he had a great passion for underprivileged youth and wanted to be a high school teacher. He and Jenny were trusting in her nursing job to pay the major bills and on his to take care of incidentals.

His day had taken a turn for the worse when the phone rang. He quickly picked it up, hoping it was Jenny. She called almost every night, right when he got home. They talked about dates, or Butterfingers, or just about nothing. Timothy didn't care, as long as Jenny was saying it. This time, though, he quickly wished it was anyone else.

"Tim? Tim?" Jenny's voice came from the phone.

"Jenny? Is something wrong?" Timothy asked.

"Don't worry, I'm safe," Jenny said, which just made Timothy twice as worried.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm okay. I'm with the police," Jenny said.

"What? Why? Did someone attack you?" Timothy gripped the phone with all his strength, ready to slam it down and run to her aid.

"Sort of. Last night I saw a crime. I'm okay, though. I'm in protective custody," Jenny said.

"But you're okay?" Timothy asked again. Everything was blurring, and that was the only clear thought.

"I'm okay. I'm scared, but I'm okay," Jenny said.

"I'll come there right away. Where are you?" Timothy asked.

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone. They said I could call you, though. I just wanted to tell you I was safe and if I don't call you for a while, that's why," Jenny said.

"I want to come make sure you're okay. Tell me where you are," Timothy said.

"I would, but I'm really not supposed to. They're staring at me right now, which is _kind of creepy!"_ There was a thud as Jenny pounded on something.

"When can you come home?" Timothy asked.

"I don't know. Soon, hopefully. As soon as they catch the creep I saw," Jenny said.

"Did he see you?" Timothy asked.

"I'm pretty sure he did, since he shot at me," Jenny said.

" _What?!"_ Timothy nearly shrieked.

"He missed," Jenny said. "Boy, he was scary. He looked like a Terminator or something."

"You have a lot of people with you, right?" Timothy asked. It was bad enough he couldn't protect Jenny. He at least had to be sure someone was doing it.

"There are three officers here with me now, and another one is out looking for him. If I'm safe with anyone, I'm safe with that guy. He's built like Mr. Potato Head," Jenny said.

"Is Butterfingers okay?" Timothy asked. He wasn't sure how he had thought to ask, but the thought of the little rabbit forlornly wandering an abandoned apartment saddened him.

"He's with the police. They were fighting over who got to take him home," Jenny said.

"So he's okay, and you're okay," Timothy said.

"Yes," Jenny said. "Try not to worry. I'm okay. They're staring at me again. I think I have to go."

"Call me as soon as you can. And come home as soon as you can," Timothy said.

"I will," Jenny said.

"I love you," Timothy said.

"I love you too," Jenny said. "Don't worry about me."

But Timothy did worry.


	6. It's Not Safe

Death waits for no man. Someone was running from the Reaper, and the Reaper would not stop until he had his woman.

Colton Jericho was not a force of nature. He was an ordinary man, or at least he was a man. He had a very particular job, and he was very good at it. He allowed no survivors, and he allowed no witnesses. Jenny, by escaping, had become both of those things. As such, she had to be eliminated. She had escaped him until then, but no one escapes death.

An hour after the incident, Jenny's apartment was swarmed with CSI agents sweeping for any trace of evidence. They would find nothing, of course- Jericho was immaculately professional. It wasn't even an inconvenience, since he already had everything he needed. He knew everything he needed to know about Jenny Blake. Her driver's license was in her coat pocket. Her textbooks told him her livelihood. The picture on her bedside table, the one with her kissing a baby-faced young man, told him his next move.

* * *

It was late, but Timothy couldn't sleep. Jenny was hidden in a cell somewhere, scared and alone. Maybe she wasn't _alone,_ but he wasn't there, and that was too alone for him. He'd spent half the day pacing the room and the other half sitting by the phone, either trying vainly to reach protective custody or waiting for Jenny to call. Late in the evening, he lay flopped across the couch, fitfully dozing and then snapping awake.

When the doorbell rang, Timothy launched himself off the couch and ran to the door. _It's Jenny!_ he thought jubilantly. _It was all a big mistake and she's back._

It was not Jenny. Jenny didn't have hard eyes and a face like a hawk. She also didn't carry a gun.

Timothy eyed the man nervously from his seat tied to a chair. For the moment, he wasn't doing anything immediately threatening. It was only remotely threatening that he was pulling all the shades down and locking the door. He stood in front of Timothy and took something from his pocket.

"This your girlfriend?" he asked, showing the picture of him kissing Jenny.

"Yes," Timothy answered. He'd always heard people saying how you shouldn't cooperate with someone who was going to kill you anyway, but it seemed better, at least for a while, to be useful to the random murderer.

"Pretty girl, isn't she?" the man asked, pulling up another chair and sitting on it with his legs spread. Timothy felt a surge of jealous anger and wished he could tear the picture up just so the man couldn't look at it anymore.

"Too bad she got herself into so much trouble," the man went on.

"You're the one who killed a guy. She was minding her own business," Timothy said, surprising himself with his boldness.

"You seem pretty close. You seem like you'd know where she is now," the man said.

"You must be the guy she saw," Timothy asked.

"No shit," the man said. "They call me the Reaper. I bet you can guess why."

"You're really good at cutting grass?" Timothy asked, and he smiled near-hysterically.

"No one sees me and lives. Your girlfriend isn't going to be the first. Where is she?" the Reaper asked.

"I don't know," Timothy said.

The Reaper's face remained emotionless as he took a metal cylinder from his front pocket. He pressed a button and a glittering blade shot out.

"I know you want to be a big man, but you don't seem to understand. I'm _going_ to find her. I'm not even going to tell you I'll let you go if you help me. I'll just kill you faster," the Reaper said.

"No, man, I really don't know. She said she couldn't tell me," Timothy said.

The Reaper brought the switchblade forward until it was almost resting on Timothy's eye. "You know what an eye looks like with the juices all oozing out? If you don't tell me, you still won't know, since you won't be able to see.

"Sir, I swear I am not trying to be brave. I really don't know," Timothy stammered. "This is some Marathon Man shit, okay? He was all 'is it safe?' and the guy really didn't know!"

The Reaper smiled, which on anyone else would have been reassuring. "I saw that one," he said. "I was rooting for the other guy, but it was all right. I remember how that part goes. Eventually the dentist believed the guy. Eventually."


	7. Sort of Everyone

"You have to send someone!" Jenny yelled, pounding on the glass of her cell. "Hey! Are you listening? Get out there and do something!"

"Ma'am, we only have so many men. We're doing everything I can, but we can't afford to send someone to check on your boyfriend," one of the guards said.

"Send one of you three. I don't need three people guarding me," Jenny insisted.

"We are required to maintain a minimum of three guards for someone in protective custody," the same officer said.

"Then send someone else!" Jenny said. The officer turned away and ignored her. One of the remaining two turned on the radio on the long metal table outside the cell, and the third was lightly dozing in his chair.

 _You're not getting rid of me that easily,_ Jenny thought. She continued pounding on the wall, adding in her other fist. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Heeeeeeeey!"

Finally, the first officer sighed and picked up the phone outside the cell. "Sir, can you send Nick down here? There's a situation."

Perhaps fifteen minutes later, Nick strode into the room, looking, as always, as though there was a child molester around the corner whose ass he was about to kick.

"Is there a problem?" he asked the trio of officers. The dozing one snapped awake so violently he almost fell out of his chair.

"It's her," the first officer said, pointing to Jenny. Nick turned to her with a comically expectant expression.

"You need to send someone to check on my boyfriend," Jenny said.

"Did he see the murder as well?" Nick asked.

"No, but he's in danger," Jenny said. "That creep's gonna think he knows something."

"Did you tell him something?" Nick asked.

" _No!"_ Jenny said. "But he might _think_ I did!"

"We have no reason to think the Reaper will target your boyfriend," Nick said.

"Well I do! And I'm going to sit here screaming until you send someone!" Jenny asked, gearing up to start pounding the walls again.

The guard groaned and put his hands to his head. "Please, sir. Can we send someone?"

"I'll go check it out," Nick said. He turned back to Jenny. "Try not to wear out guards."

* * *

"Please, I don't know." Timothy's night had gone from "not good" to "literally the worst day of his life". To his great relief, the Reaper had stopped short of cutting out his eyes, instead electing to slash multiple shallow cuts across his face and then put the knife away for an old-fashioned beatdown. The fact that he was relieved about that indicated exactly how bad the day was.

The Reaper backhanded Timothy across the face. The blow was softened slightly by the lubrication of the blood and tears on his cheeks, but it still made his ears ring.

"Where is she?" the Reaper asked.

"She didn't tell me." Timothy's face shook, and he started to sob. As usual, his thoughts were for Jenny. _She's gonna feel so guilty I died. It's not her fault, but she's going to be so sad._

The Reaper yanked on the switchblade, which was embedded menacingly between Timothy's legs.

 _Oh, good. He finally believes me, and now he's going to kill me,_ Timothy thought. Instead, the Reaper slammed the blade straight down into Timothy's thigh. Timothy shrieked like a little girl as his flesh tore and every muscle in his body tensed. The Reaper looked at him patiently.

" _I don't know, okay?!_ I don't know, you sick fuck! I would have told you by now! I wish I did know, _just so I could tell you!"_ Timothy screamed.

The Reaper looked at him for an instant, gauging his words. He reached into his coat again and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it and stared into the flickering flame.

Timothy's stomach dropped, and in that moment he wished he'd never met Jenny. "Please, just stab me again," he begged.

"Don't worry," the Reaper said. "I believe you. This is just to get rid of the evidence."

"Are you gonna shoot me first?" Timothy said in a tiny voice.

"Sorry, kid. Gunshots make a lot of noise. We're a long way from the neighbors, but why take a risk?" the Reaper said. He pulled a slender metal bottle from his long dark gray coat and unscrewed the top. The sharp smell of gasoline hit the air.

"No. No. No," Timothy whimpered, which only meant the gas went into his open mouth. It was milder than he expected, and greasy like oil. He spat it out as the Reaper coated the rest of him. It stung as it seeped into his open cuts. _At least now all I smell is gas. No one will know I wet myself._

Timothy barely registered the thump before the door flew open. A huge, burly cop burst in, brandishing a handgun. "Reaper!" he yelled, in a voice surprisingly intense for how soft it was.

The Reaper, who had sprinted catlike across the room and flicked the lighter as soon as he heard the noise, brandished the open flame at Timothy and stared at the gun the cop had leveled at him. "You smell that? It would be a shame if someone lit all those fumes. Put your gun down."

The cop bent and put his gun on the floor, staring murder at the Reaper. The Reaper turned and ran for the back door, tossing the lighter behind him. Timothy screamed as it arced through the air straight toward him. The cop jumped in front of him like a flash, snatching the lighter out of the air and slamming the cover over the flame. He landed and the floor and tucked into a roll. He didn't have to look up to know what he would see. They had evaded death, which meant the Reaper was gone.


	8. Jenny and Reaper

"Tim? Are you okay?"

Jenny anxiously clutched the phone to her ear, like it would make her closer to the voice on the other side. The officers had said her boyfriend was in custody, but then one of them mentioned a hospital. After what she saw the Reaper do to that random guy he shot, Jenny wouldn't be satisfied until she heard from Timothy himself. After an hour of waiting, her call finally went through.

"I'm okay," he said. Even through the tinny phone connection, he sounded like he was in pain.

"Are you really okay? You sound bad," Jenny said. She heard mechanical beeps and faint shouts in the background. "What's all that noise?"

"It's just the doctors," Timothy said.

"Why do you need doctors? What did he do to you?" Jenny demanded.

"He just roughed me up a bit. You know, like in a cool spy movie," Timothy said, and she heard a fake laugh.

"This is _not_ a movie! Did he shoot you?" Jenny asked.

"I think I'd be dead if he shot me," Timothy said. "Don't worry, babe. He definitely didn't shoot me."

"Why do you sound like you're drunk?" Jenny asked. For a guy who just tussled with a hit man, Timothy sounded very lighthearted.

"I'm on a lot of painkillers right now. You know how you said people are always trying to score morphine? I get it now," Timothy.

"Why are you on morphine? What did he do to you?" Jenny asked again.

"It's nothing. I'll be fine. I got like a hundred cops right outside the door. They said something like as soon I feel better, I can tell everyone what he looks like and they'll catch him, so you can probably go home soon," Timothy slurred.

"Don't worry about that. Just get better. Can I talk to one of the doctors?" Jenny asked.

"Nu-uh. They'll tell you everything he did." Timothy was on to her subterfuge. "Ow! I gotta go. Someone just stuck a _needle_ in my arm! Love you."

Jenny heard the receiver click down, and she reluctantly set hers down as well. In any case, at least Timothy was alive. He _seemed_ to be in mostly one piece. That was all she cared about.

* * *

The Reaper stood outside the courthouse, hidden in the shadows under a corner store awning. His eyes were squinted in deep thought and barely concealed frustration. For years he'd operated with perfection, leaving not a single clue that could lead to his capture. Then, over the last few days, that many witnesses had escaped him. The boy was untouchable for the moment, in such a high-security environment as a hospital. However, he wasn't yet a threat. His first priority was the girl who started all this. In the state the boy was in, he had perhaps thirty-six hours before he was identified and his task became that much harder. A lot could happen in thirty-six hours.

Policemen kept odd hours. Lowlifes or criminals might be watching, waiting for a shift change. It was early in the morning before the Reaper saw a slender figure emerge from a tucked-away side exit to the courthouse. He watched the policeman open the door to one of the squad cars in the parking lot. Hours before, the Reaper had noted the position of each of the cars and written down their numbers. He circled the number of the car the policeman entered, in case he lost him. Then he got into his own car and inconspicuously followed. He was an expert at such things, naturally, and the policeman suspected nothing as he pulled up next to a curb in front of a small, dirty house in between two others on a long road.

The Reaper was pleased to see the state of the house. Any house that dirty, with a lawn that unkempt, certainly didn't have a woman living inside. The unfortunate policeman was single and unobservant, making his job that much simpler. He parked up the road, under an elm tree whose branches overhung the street. The night was quiet as he approached the house. It was still quiet fifteen minutes later when he drove away.

* * *

 **How did the Reaper kill a police dude without even any noise? I don't know- that's why I didn't write it. How long until Timothy is able to identify the Reaper? Exactly as long as the plot needs.**


	9. Nick and Jenny

Nick sat at the desk outside Jenny's cell, vigilantly looking from door to door. Hours had passed, but his concentration had not flagged. Nick was not the sort of man to do a job halfway, especially something as important as guarding a hit man's target. His only distraction was his faint dissatisfaction that he was not personally out searching for the Reaper, but he knew the most important thing was keeping Jenny safe. For her part, Jenny had hours ago gotten tired of him staring in at her like a protective vulture when she was trying to get to sleep. She'd managed to do so only after pulling the pillow over her head and burrowing under the covers.

Nick glanced down at his watch. It was 1:20 A.M. Guard changes were scheduled at odd times to throw off anyone who might take advantage of the momentarily low security. He'd already sent his coworker Lieutenant Flores home early because the boy had taken a double shift and was falling asleep. It was just him and Jenny until Lieutenant Ryder showed up, and then Nick would finish out the night with him to make sure Jenny was doubly safe.

1:25 A.M., the watch read. Nick squinted suspiciously. He stood suddenly and unlocked the door to Jenny's cell. He strode inside and shook the pile of blankets.

A flurry of fists answered him. "No!" Jenny screamed she she blindly flailed at him.

"Calm down, it's just me!" Nick said, catching her arms. He mentally kicked himself for not thinking of how Jenny would react to someone suddenly waking her when she knew a hit man was after her.

"What the fudge was that?!" Jenny said as she sat up, untangling herself from the blankets.

"We have to go," Nick said.

"What? Why?" Jenny asked.

 _Because Ryder is dead,_ Nick thought. Cops weren't late for work. The Reaper had maybe one more day before everyone knew his face and Jenny was lost to him. He was making one last attempt, and he was almost certainly already in the building.

"We're going to a safe house," Nick said.

"In the middle of the night?" Jenny asked as she got up.

"It's so you're harder to find," Nick said.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Jenny asked.

"Obviously we've been compromised somewhere. We didn't want any chance something would get leaked," Nick said.

"Whatever. Let's just go," Jenny said. "Is it, like, a real house? With more than one room and windows and everything?"

"Shh," Nick said, as gently as he could. He didn't want to upset or alarm Jenny, but somewhere in the building was someone who would kill her as soon as he saw her. He stepped out in front of her protectively and set his hand on his gun holster.

"Why are you acting so-" Jenny started. "Oh," she whispered, and she huddled in closer behind him.

* * *

 _He's here._ Jenny knew it was true as soon as Nick looked at the door. He'd been doing it all night, but this time, he did it with _purpose._ She huddled closer and quieted down. All that was between her and a murderer hell-bent on killing her was the admittedly very capable cop in front of her.

As they approached the door, Nick put an arm across Jenny's chest and checked the perimeter. After he secured it, he ushered her behind him down the hall to the closest door.

As they passed under an ascending flight of stairs, Nick snapped his arm upward and opened fire. Jenny caught a glimpse of a police officer's uniform before the figure retreated into the stairwell.

 _Why did Nick shoot at that guy? He was a cop. I hope he didn't hit him,_ Jenny thought. And then it hit her. In that instant she saw the cop, she'd seen his face. It was a horribly familiar face.

"Oh my gosh." Jenny squished in behind Nick, taking shelter behind his hulking frame. He swatted her sideways as gently as a man of his size could.

"Go!" he yelled, pointing to the door behind them. Jenny darted toward it, covering her head with her arms even though she knew she couldn't stop a bullet. As she ran, she heard Nick laying down cover fire.

Jenny rocketed out the door and into an almost empty parking lot. Seconds later, Nick burst out after her.

"Get in!" he yelled. Jenny ran to the car and tried to pull the door open. Nick followed behind , shielding her as he opened the door. Jenny jumped in and clambered to the passenger's side seat as Nick took the wheel.

"Get down!" he yelled, putting his arm across her shoulder and pushing her down in the seat as he started the engine. As she folded, a bullet tore through the head rest above her and out the windshield. The tires squealed as Nick tore out of the parking lot. Several more shots rang out, and Jenny knew if she sat up and looked back, she would see the Reaper looking after her.

"Are we really going to a safe house?" Jenny asked when they were safely out of range.

"Yes," Nick said.

"Was that really the plan before half an hour ago?" Jenny asked.

"No," Nick said.

 _Thanks, Nick._ Jenny thought. _It's not like I'm scared or anything. Don't_ talk _to me. Heaven forbid._


	10. Mostly Jenny

Gravel crunched under the wheels as the car turned into a narrow dirt road leading into a dark forest. Jenny peeked nervously out the window, expecting to see the Reaper taking aim at them by the glow of the headlights. She felt safer when the big road was out of sight and there was nothing but the trees. At last, the safe house came into view.

Jenny had never thought about a real safe house. She had only a vague notion of some artificially intelligent, armored location that was a designated safe area safe mostly because it was designated to be so. It never occurred to her that a safe house was just a normal house, and she felt oddly underwhelmed. All the same, the house looked exactly like what she would have chosen for a safe house. It was a small wooden building with a sturdy-looking door and small windows. It was plain and unassuming, even more so since it was in the middle of nowhere in the woods. She wished it was perhaps a little solid-looking, but surely Nick would know more about safe houses than she would. She followed Nick inside the house and he locked the door.

"Are you sure this is a safe house?" Jenny asked as Nick drew the blinds. "No one knows about it or anything?"

"It's a safe house _because_ no one knows about it," Nick said quietly.

"But the Reaper knew where I was. Will he know about this too?" Jenny asked.

"No one knows about this," Nick said. Dust scuffled under his feet as he moved around the room, checking windows and poking around.

 _Maybe it's safe, then..._ Jenny thought. "Oh my god. This isn't a real safe house, is it?" she asked.

"It's the safest place for you," Nick said. When he saw Jenny wasn't going to be content with that, he added, "It's an old family hunting lodge. The only other person who knows about it is my father, and the Reaper's gonna have to do six feet of digging to get anything out of him."

"So how long are we going to stay here?" Jenny asked, setting her hand on a musty easy chair. A cloud of dust puffed up from the impact.

"I'll call for backup and they'll be here in a few hours. We'll figure out what to do from there," Nick said. He walked toward an ancient phone mounted on the wall of the tiny kitchen. He picked up the phone and pressed some buttons. Nothing happened.

"Is it broken?" Jenny asked.

Nick slammed the phone back down. "Rusty wires," he said. He'd never thought to get them replaced, since he wasn't the type to make many calls.

"Is there anyone around whose phone we can use?" Jenny asked.

"We'll have to go into town," Nick said. He started for the door, then stopped. " _I'll_ have to go into town."

"What? You're leaving me here? Why?" Jenny asked. She instinctively took a step closer to him, since he was the only thing that seemed safe lately.

"He knew where you were, even before he killed one of my men. There's a mole," Nick said.

"He knows where we are now?" Jenny asked.

"I don't think so. But he knows to look for you. He'll have eyes in town. If anyone sees you, they'll follow us here. You need to stay here," Nick said.

"What if he comes?" Jenny asked.

"He's not going to come," Nick said.

"How long will you be gone?" Jenny asked.

"Not more than half an hour. Just stay away from the windows and don't turn on the lights," Nick said. Jenny knew that was just him being paranoid. They were in the middle of nowhere. If the Reaper was close enough to notice the lights, that wouldn't be enough to save her.

Nick felt around under an end table and tossed something to Jenny, who almost fumbled it.

"Oh my god, is this real?" she asked, holding the hangdun in two flat hands.

"Yes," Nick said, and he tossed her a handful of bullets from his belt.

"Why would you keep a handgun in your hunting lodge?" she asked.

"I keep a lot of things in my hunting lodge."

* * *

It was surprising what a random cop could tell you. He sure knew a lot about someone who barely spoke. The Reaper had no idea how his victim had gotten word of Nick's hunting cabin, but he didn't question it. He drove down a deserted country road toward his destination. After tonight, one of two loose ends would be tied up. The boy could come later. Maybe things would even work out without him doing anything. The boy was seriously injured. The human body was a weird thing. Someone could get those kinds of injuries and walk away, or someone could get the same injuries and never wake up. He would do what had to be done depending on how the situation turned out.

A pair of headlights pierced the darkness as the Reaper neared the lodge. A single squad car passed by, going the opposite direction. The headlights weren't on, and the car maintained a normal speed. Neither of the men had any business with each other, so the Reaper didn't even spare the driver a passing glance.


	11. Jenny Again

Jenny skulked in the bedroom at the end of the hall, wedged in between the bed and nightstand as though they afforded her extra protection. She clutched the handgun in both hands, pointing it shakily at the door, which was blocked by the chair she'd wedged under the handle. Every five seconds she glanced at the bedside clock, hoping to spur it to move faster and bring Nick back before anything happened.

When Jenny heard the door click open, a flurry of emotion passed through her. Her first thought was that Nick was back, which was the best thing possible. Her second thought was dismay, when she realized that Nick would have immediately identified himself after he entered, so she would know it wasn't someone else. Her third thought was that the person downstairs could only be one other person, which was the worst thing possible.

 _How does he even know where I am?_ Jenny thought as he checked again that the door was barred. For a moment, she wondered if he really _was_ The Grim Reaper. There seemed to be no other explanation for his preternatural ability to follow her anywhere.

 _Supernatural or not, we're going to find out if he's bulletproof._ Jenny was shaking in fear, but she was sure of that much. She knew Nick wasn't dead, because he didn't seem fully mortal either. He would be back soon, and he would take care of things. If he didn't get back fast enough, she would blast the Reaper herself.

 _That's right. He won't find me, and if he does, I'll shoot him through the door,_ Jenny thought. She strained her ears, trying to determine where the Reaper was. For long minutes, there was silence. Then a single stair squeaked, making Jenny jump. _That was halfway up the stairs,_ she thought. He'd already searched the downstairs and he was coming closer. She heard him open the door to the other room at the start of the hall. _Hurry up, Nick._

There was a tap on the other side of the bedroom wall. Jenny tensed and flattened herself against the bed, bracing her arms against it to aim at the door. After that, there was only silence. There was no sign of movement and no indication of whether the Reaper was about to open the door. After ten seconds, Jenny wished he'd just open it and get it over with.

Suddenly, there was a thump at the bedroom window. Jenny whipped around and frantically pulled the trigger. She'd been tricked. The Reaper knew she was in the last room and snuck outside to attack her from behind. The first shot shattered the window, but she couldn't tell if it hit him, so she shot again. She thought she only shot a handful of times, but when the gun clicked, she knew she'd screwed up. _But I must have hit him,_ she thought. _One of those must have hit him._ He wasn't in the window anymore, at least. She cautiously crawled to the window and peeked over the shards of glass lying on the pane.

There was no sign of the Reaper. All that lay on the ground by the window was a long-handled shovel. The shovel, Jenny realized, that the Reaper had used to tap on the window.

 _Oh my god._ He knew where she was, and he knew she was out of bullets. She had three options. She could jump out the window, but he was probably waiting outside for her to do just that. She might break her leg jumping, and if she didn't, he would shoot her anyway. If he _wasn't_ outside and she jumped, he would hear the noise and come after her. He was much taller and probably much faster. Nick would arrive and wonder where she'd gone while the Reaper tracked her down and shot her in the forest. She could stay in the room, but then the Reaper would break down the door and get her. Her only other option was to try to sneak to another room. If she was going to do that, she had to move fast. She only had seconds before he got back inside and upstairs.

Jenny leaped across the bed and pulled the chair out from under the door. She opened the door and found herself face-to-face with The Reaper.


	12. Reaper or Raper

"Do you know how much trouble you've caused me?" the Reaper asked as Jenny stepped back in shock. She tried to slam the door in his face and he caught it in one hand, shoving it open and pushing her a step back into the room. She turned halfway toward the window and he grabbed her hand, spinning her around.

 _Well do you know how much trouble you've caused_ me? She surprised herself with the sauciness of the thought, since she thought she was too scared to think. She tried to pull free of the Reaper's grip, but he was too strong. She wondered why she was even still alive. Usually hit men didn't waste time.

"Are you gonna kill me or what?" Jenny blurted before she thought about it.

The Reaper smiled like a shark. "Are you telling me how to do my job?" he asked. He threw her sideways, and she landed across the end of the bed.

 _Does he want a hostage or something?_ Jenny wondered. "Nick will be back soon," she said.

"Then we don't have much time," the Reaper said.

After all this buildup, Jenny was almost relieved to see the Reaper. The terrible uncertain fear was now replaced with a cold certainty that death was close. She was still confused about why he was taking so long, but he _did_ seem pretty mad at her for ruining his reputation. He probably just wanted to toy with her for a while.

"It's too bad we had to cross paths," the Reaper said. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't be mixed up in these things."

Jenny had never been so aware of the closeness of death. She was sprawled across the bed, looking right at the gun in the Reaper's hands. She watched as he raised it, aiming it right at her head. She could see right down the barrel, right where the bullet would come out. She steeled herself for the shot, but it never came.

The Reaper lowered the gun and leaned forward, grabbing the front of her shirt. He hauled her partially upward and tossed her back farther onto the bed, so only the ends of her legs dangled off. He tilted his head and looked down at the scene appreciatively.

"What are you doing?" Jenny asked.

The Reaper didn't answer. He stepped forward and loomed over her, his legs on either side of hers. His usually stoic face took on a predatory interest.

"I thought you were a professional," Jenny said. He couldn't be thinking what she she thought. The Reaper was an elusive, almost legendary figure. He wouldn't let a pretty girl distract him from his job. He had a reputation to uphold.

"People thought a lot of things about me before you showed up," the Reaper said. "You ruined my reputation. I'm going to enjoy ruining yours."

Jenny's chest heaved as she scooted back away from the Reaper. He grabbed her leg and pulled her toward him as he put one knee up on the couch, climbing almost on top of her.

"Nick will be back," Jenny said again, desperately trying to ward him off.

"With a girl as pretty as you, this won't take long," the Reaper said. He pinned her shoulder down with his hand, his legs straddling her as he looked down at her. With his free hand, he aimed the gun at her head again, then slowly lowered it, tracing a line down over her chest and along her stomach. He pressed his hand in closer as he reached her hips, until she felt the hard metal gun against the front of her jeans. He reached back up, petting her hair lightly with the gun still in his fingers. He slid the gun across her cheek, letting it rest lightly on her lips.

"Death comes softly," he said.

Nick, however, did not.


	13. Nick vrs The Reaper

When the door crashed open, both Jenny and the Reaper knew it was Nick. However, they had opposite reactions. The Reaper swung the gun up to Jenny's head to complete his mission before he was interrupted. Jenny went for the Hail Mary and swatted his hand to one side as she moved her head to the other, then wrapped both arms around his gun arm and bit his hand. _Can't shoot my head if it's behind the gun,_ she reasoned.

Jenny knew her last-ditch effort would only save her for a few seconds, and that is what happened. The Reaper used his free hand to punch her in the nose. Her eyes watered and her ears rang, but she held on. Unfortunately, the second blow knocked her loose. She tumbled off the bed and rolled like a cat, hiding under the bed as the Reaper fired two shots. One whizzed by her ear as she rolled, and the other was blocked by the mattress, box spring, and wooden bed frame. Jenny heard the bed creak as the Reaper launched himself the rest of the way across it. She started to scuttle underneath the bed, hoping to somehow get out of the way when he reached her. Perhaps six seconds had passed since the door flew open, but that was enough. As the Reaper started to crouch and Jenny saw his long legs fold, another door opened, and Jenny saw the most beautiful pair of police boots.

The Reaper pivoted, firing another shot at Nick. Nick deftly ducked under it and barreled toward his quarry. He grabbed the Reaper's gun arm and shoved it upward. He pulled the Reaper close and folded his arm down over his back, snapping it cleanly. The gun clattered to the floor, but the Reaper didn't even react. He threw a punch at Nick with his unbroken hand. Nick positioned himself under the punch and used the momentum to flip the Reaper over his back. When the Reaper sprang back catlike to his feet. Nick grabbed his shirt and shoved him across the room and into a wooden wardrobe.

The Reaper made a lunge for the gun on the floor. Nick stomped his hand and twisted his boot until the sound of snapping fingers split the air. When The Reaper tried again to get up, Nick brought his knee up into his face. The Reaper tumbled over backwards and tried to kick Nick's legs out from under him. Nick gracefully hopped over the Reaper and stepped back, beckoning him to get up with hooked hands.

"You want to try again? Maybe you're not done yet. You're a big man, aren't you? You like to shoot little ladies who can't defend themselves. I bet you'd like to shoot me, too, wouldn't you? Why don't you go ahead and try?" Nick coldly whispered. He looked at the gun expectantly and let the Reaper crawl over to it. He waited until the Reaper picked it and aimed it at him to kick it out of his hands. A tardy bullet flew into the wall.

"You're going to have to be faster than that. I thought you were the best," Nick said. Again he waited as the Reaper retrieved the gun. As the hit man aimed, Nick slapped the gun from his hand, sending another bullet into the wall.

"Don't you know how to use that thing? Here, let me show you," Nick said. He picked up the gun and aimed at the ground between the Reaper's legs. He squeezed the trigger twice, emptying the bullets into the floor.

"See, that's how you do it. But now you're all out of bullets," Nick said breathily. "So that won't do you any good." he tossed the gun out window and beckoned again at the Reaper. "Now why don't you show me what you're really made of?"

The Reaper took a step forward and flicked a switchblade out of his pocket, slashing it at Nick's throat. Nick dodged his head to the side and grabbed the Reaper's throat. He pivoted around, hauling the Reaper with him, and threw him against the windowsill so he was folded over it. He grabbed the Reaper by his hair and forced his neck down on the ragged shards of glass sticking up from the sill, grinding it back and forth as blood oozed out and flowed down the outside of the house.

"Rest in peace," Nick said as he surveyed his handiwork. Then he turned back to face the room and search for Jenny. Jenny made his job easier by cautiously sticking her hand out from under the bed and waving it. Nick pulled her out and helped her up, and she launched into a hug which he somewhat returned, though it was more of a protective stance on his part. Were it not for the dead guy slumped over the windowsill, it would have been heartwarming.


End file.
